“That won’t be necessary. It’s a half-track, all right. Looks as if we’re going to have visitors.” He took the glasses again, scanning the horizon. “I’d hoped to see the colony from here, but that ridge obscures it. Its only about five miles away.”
“But why don’t they fly over here, instead of driving that clumsy thing?” Tuck took the glasses again, and found the little machine crossing a level stretch of white, then disappearing behind the nearest ridge of rock.
“Half-track is smarter, in the long run. It doesn’t go very fast, but it gets here. The colony probably has some jets, but they’re not much good for anything but exploration on this terrain. The half-track has power, and it’s heavy, and it can easily be sealed against the atmosphere.”
“But what about the colony?”
“Its sealed, too. Plexiglass dome. Not very big, either, considering that there are five hundred people living in the colony, including wives and children. And most of the mine shafts open right up inside the dome.”
Quite suddenly the creeping half-track appeared, lumbering over the ridge of rocks surrounding the ship, making its way slowly, carefully, down into the shallow center of the crater where the ship stood. It was a strange-looking vehicle, with fat pillow tires eighteen inches thick in front, and heavy caterpillar treads on the back to drive it. It was exactly what they called it, a half-tractor, and it wasn’t nearly so small as it had looked. The whole top part was sealed in with a clear plastic bubble, rounding out over the top where a single figure sat, guiding the car in its path. Tuck squinted, but the dull bluish sunlight reflected from the plastic, and he could not get a clear view.
The pilot stuck his head in the door. “Shall I let him aboard? We ran the crane out when we first landed—”
“Better let him come. If we’re to have a welcoming committee, we might as well get things off to a good start. This may be one of Anson Torm’s men.”
Tuck frowned, watching the half-track move down near the ship and grind to a halt. “Don’t you think we’d better have guns ready?” he asked. “You never can tell—”
“I’ll leave that up to the crewmen. I want to make arrangements for living quarters in the colony, and see what I can find out at the start about the trouble we’ve been hearing about. Probably it would be best to be as friendly as possible.”
The dome of the half-track suddenly sprang open, and a curious-looking figure struggled out, clumsy in the great padded pressure suit that covered his body. A heavy transparent dome covered the man’s head, and he stopped momentarily when he reached the ground to seal the half-track up tightly again. Then he moved toward the ship, and in a moment Tuck heard the crane winches hum with the unaccustomed strain as the man was hauled up to the space-lock.
Moments later the lock opened, and a man walked in, his transparent helmet thrown back, his body still clad in the thickly padded space suit. Tuck stared at the man, hardly believing what he saw. He was huge, over six feet tall. Even without the suit he would have looked like a powerfully built man. His hair was thick and sandy, and his cheeks were pale; shaggy brown eyebrows jutted out over ice-blue eyes.
For a long moment the stranger stared coldly at the Colonel and Tuck; then his eyes flashed, and he looked straight at the Colonel. “My name is Anson Torm,” he said, in a rich bass voice. “What’s yours?”
“Benedict—Robert Benedict. This is my son, Tuck.” The Colonel stepped forward, offering his hand. “Take off the suit, and make yourself comfortable. You’ll roast if you wear that thing in here.”
Very briefly the man’s eyes flickered over Tuck’s face; then he looked back at the Colonel, ignoring the hand. “The supply ship isn’t due to arrive for four months yet,” he said finally, not making a move.
“This isn’t a supply ship.”
“Then what is it?”
The Colonel smiled. “Call it an informal check on production in the mines, if you like,” he said.
Anson Torm’s face darkened. “So you’re the trouble shooter that Security was going to send?”
“I’m representing the Earth Security Commission, yes.
Slowly the big man began to peel off his pressure suit. His clothing was coarse, with a multitude of patches and careful repairs, and his heavy face was wrinkled with worry and strain. But there was something arresting about the man’s face, something that brought a flicker of warmth to Tuck’s mind. Anson Torm looked like a powerful man, and not only in terms of physical strength. There was a light of pride in his eyes, a curious air of fierce bravery about him that the coarsest of clothing could not diminish. He stepped from the suit like a man completely in command of himself and of all those around him, and when he turned to the Colonel, it was as if he were meeting the Security Commission President on his own grounds. “All right—I’m representing the interests of the Titan colonists,” he said. “I suggest that we go where we can talk, and without delay. I also suggest that you, sir, talk more sensibly than the last few representatives of Earth Security—”
The Colonel’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You mean you’ve talked to Security men before this?”
“Until my tongue froze,” Anson Torm replied coldly. “You must remember that I’ve lived in this colony for a very long time. This time, I think it would be wise for us to reach an understanding, and reach it fast. Because if your ship leaves Titan without an agreement that meets with the satisfaction of the Titan colonists, I am afraid Earth has received her last cargo of ruthenium.”
The Colonel’s eyes widened. “You mean your people are refusing to work the mines?”
“Not at all,” said the Titan leader. He looked at the Colonel, and his voice was heavy with weariness. “I mean that there will be no mines left for my people to work.”
Chapter 4
“There’s Trouble at the Colony!”
For a moment they stood in shocked silence, staring at the big man. The Colonel’s face was pale, and all traces of his smile had fled. “If that was meant as a threat, I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong man,” he said quietly. “I’m not here to listen to threats. I’m here to collect facts, and to draw my own conclusions on the basis of those facts.”
Anson Torm was shaking his head. “That was not a threat. It was a simple statement of fact. I don’t care to see the mines shut down—I’ll do everything in my power to keep them open.That’s why I’m here, to talk to you before you go on to the colony.” He eyed Tuck and the pilot with frank hostility. “I’d prefer to talk privately.”
The Colonel hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded. “Would you mind, Tuck? Perhaps you could get the gear ready to go back to the colony.” He turned to the pilot. “Tuck and I will plan to go to the colony after I’ve talked with Mr. Torm. I’d like you and your crew to stay with the ship, at least for the time being. And we’d rather not be disturbed by anyone for a while.”
Tuck made his way down the corridor toward the sleeping quarters, trying to make some sense from the colony leader’s words. He was shocked by the big man’s appearance far more than he realized. Granted that he hadn’t been entirely sure of what to expect a colonist to look like—he had had mental pictures of crafty, shifty-eyed, bitter-faced people, more animal than human—after all, that was the generally accepted picture back home. But Anson Torm’s cold blue eyes could hardly have been called shifty, and far from giving a crafty appearance, he had struck Tuck as the sort of man who would prefer sharp conflict to any kind of trickery. Almost shamefacedly, Tuck realized that he had liked the big man on sight, liked him without any basis whatsoever. Yet Torm, he realized, was a Titan colonist with a record for treachery a mile long; no matter how he looked, he couldn’t be trusted.